It slips away too easily
without even knowing it has happened
It’s the vhs imagry in my mind
when I rest my face in my hands
rub my eyes to remember;
Those little side-glances only I see,
thrown to be felt only by me;
the tears that come to the eyes
watching this movie in the front of my memory
It’s the giggles
the pure joy
the terrorizing fear
of wanting someone else so much,
knowing that this one-and-only life I have
now belongs to her;
The panic knowing how quickly
how blindly
it slips away
and then feeling that shaking come from deep within
growing and spinning and ricocheting off my organs
still wanting it
still wanting more
It’s pages of poems clung to the wall;
humble nonsense scribbles on cardboard cutout hearts
It’s the scent that stops me still in the middle of the street
It’s clinging onto someone so tightly
because my breathe isn’t mine anymore
It’s knowing, only years later,
that it is something that cannot be helped,
something routine, habit, necessary,
something that will always be a part of my life
regardless of my intention;
a team, a pact, a promise,
apologies, guilt, forgiveness, acceptance
It’s being allowed to be different weird crazy unbalanced
secrets of passion, secrets of trust, secrets of bonds,
secrets of immaturity, secrets of the most fragile foundations;
It’s the kingdom of heaven and the nine rings of hell
It’s the skin, the shroud, the invisibility cloak
And if this writer does not intentionally cease this indulgence,
then this poem will be hundreds more pages
line by line
of what true imperfect love really is…
af
(written on typewriter)
write those hundred more pages!
Oh, eventually, I am sure they will come out!